Rescue Me
by KatyPoo
Summary: Sam is kidnapped. The creature tortures him, and tries to make him believe that Dean doesn’t care. Sam begins to have his doubts about his older brother, and is ready to give up on getting free. Will Dean be able to rescue his baby brother in time?
1. Prologue

This is a completely random idea that popped into my head. I own it, but I do NOT own Supernatural, its characters, or anything associated with said show. Reviews are welcome. Enjoy.

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Rescue Me

Prologue

Cold. Sam Winchester was cold and in pain. He could hardly feel any of his extremities, and his head throbbed. Prying his eyes open, he looked around at his position. He was on the floor of some dank and dingy basement. His right wrist ached as he tried to move it. He managed to strain a glance to it, and noted that there was a pair of handcuffs attached to it, and a thick pipe behind him. He was lying on his left side, which hurt just the same. He attempted to pick his head up to glance around the room, but was unable to move it. He found that his sandy hair was stuck to the floor due to a large pool of blood that flowed out from an apparent wound on his head. Groaning, he reached his left arm up, finding that pain shot through his body as he did so, and yanked it free from the floor. He started to push himself from the ground, but was unsuccessful. After about the third time, he was able to shakily sit up. He leaned back against the cold wall behind him, and tried to keep himself conscious. When he gained some of his bearings, things began to run through his head. How did he get here? Where was here? And where was Dean?

Dean. Where was Dean?

Sam felt a pang deep within his gut as he thought that Dean might very well be dead, but something inside him said otherwise. He attempted to stand up. It took quite a bit of effort, but with the help of the pipe, he managed to rise from the ground. More pain shot through him as his legs began to work. For the first time, he noted a smell that wafted up his nasal passages. It smelled like… rotting flesh. He felt a lurch in his stomach, and before he could stop himself, he'd lost anything he'd eaten all over the floor to his immediate left. Gagging a couple more times, he got a hold on himself, and was able to ignore the smell. He limped forward some, feeling a bit like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, and attempted to peer out the small, dirty window on the door. He could see nothing, but decided he didn't like the feeling of this place. It reminded him somewhat of the asylum he and Dean had been in just weeks before. That was a memory he didn't want to remember. Of course, he couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to it, and he found himself thinking of the occurrences in that asylum.

What was going through his head? Sam honestly had no idea. When the crazy doctor used that electroshock on his brain, he'd gone completely nuts with overwhelming feelings; and these weren't happy bunny and unicorn feelings either… these were feelings of pain, sorrow, and hate. He had started to hate his older brother. He thought that all the feelings of resentment for his family had been locked away in a box within his head, but he supposed that the ghost did something weird to him. The feelings were unleashed, and Dean was in their way. Dean, lying on the floor with a chest full of rock salt, had handed him a pistol. He'd claimed it was loaded, and Sam believed it. He'd held it above his brother, who was fearless the whole time, and pulled the trigger. Click. Empty. Dean had been smart enough to unload it before giving it to his little brother, and Sam was pissed. But Dean had saved the day again. Even with the doctor trying to make him crazy, he'd managed to burn the corpse, and everything was back to normal. But Sam knew that Dean wasn't okay; he knew that his big brother would have to live with the fact that Sam would've killed him, had the gun been loaded. And Sam was sorry for that.

Sam gripped onto the pole in an attempt to keep his balance as he heard locks clicking on the other side of the door. Somebody was coming. He looked around for something to defend himself with, but saw nothing he could use… nothing at all. He was defenseless, and this thing was probably going to kill him. No, he couldn't let it happen. He had to survive; he had to tell Dean that he didn't mean it, that he was sorry for even thinking those things; he couldn't die here.

The door slowly swung open with a rusty squeak, revealing some sort of being in the doorway. It was tall, probably somewhere near seven foot, and terribly skinny. Its eye sockets were empty, and its nose was practically non-existent. It hadn't opened its mouth yet, but judging by the razor-like fingers, its teeth were probably just as sharp. Sam eyed the open doorway hopefully, but he knew that he wasn't going anywhere as long as this creature was in his way. It walked close and peered down at the youngest Winchester boy.

"What-what do you want?"

It said nothing.

"C-come on, answer m-me! Wha-what do you want?"

Still, the beast said nothing. But this time, it let out a growl and bared its teeth. Each one was about two inches in length, and they were like miniature daggers. Saliva flew from its mouth and smacked Sam in the face; more of that scent followed. Gagging, he wiped the spit off of his face. He looked down at his hand. The goop was black and sticky, and smelled excruciatingly rank. He peered up to the thing again, and it glared down with its empty eyes. He could have sworn he saw it smirk.

"It is none of your business what I want."

Sam arched both of his eyebrows high, "Excuse me, but I think that since I'm the one who has been kidnapped, it's plenty my business."

"Silence!"

Sam closed his mouth immediately. Every time the thing spoke more of the disgusting saliva flew from its mouth, and he had to wipe it off of a different part of his upper portion. He was reminded of an orc from the Lord of the Rings movies. He'd read the books when he was just a boy, and saw the movies with Jessica in the theaters. This thing was definitely orc-ish… well, in its attitude anyway.

There was an awkward silence between the pair, and Sam decided to speak again, "Who are you?"

The creature yelled at Sam, telling him to shut up again. Finally, it decided that it didn't want to deal with the boy anymore. It grabbed Sam's throat tightly and squeezed. Sam grasped the burnt hands and tried to pry them away from his throat, but it was way too strong. He began to feel himself turning colors as he was deprived of oxygen. He became light-headed, his vision blurred, but then it let him go. For some reason, it decided that it didn't want to kill him. Sam collapsed onto the floor, and everything went black.

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Please R& R. Next part will be up soon!


	2. Chapter I

Holy crap. I you people make me feel so loved! Thanks for the reviews! Keep 'em coming!  
-  
Once again, I don't own anything but the story… and that creature, which I don't know what to call… -shifty eyes- I'll come up with something… lol, here's part dos!

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Rescue Me

Chapter I

Dean was worried; Sam had been off on his little excursion for a long time now, and he hadn't made any contact. Dean had tried to call his brother's cell phone repeatedly, but every time he got the voice mail. He wanted to believe that he'd just gotten too wrapped up in something… that he simply forgot to call… but that was too unlike Sam. He shouldn't have let him go out alone; he should have gone with. Sam had insisted that he would be fine, and Dean believed him. It was just, there were so many odd disappearances lately… no. Don't think like that. Sam was fine. He always was the more careful out of the pair. He would be just fine. One last try… Dean would give Sam's phone one last try.

Flipping his phone open, Dean punched in the phone number. It rang several times, and he was about to hang up, when it clicked. He could hear breathing.

"Sam? Sammy? Dude, are you okay?"

There was some shuffling on the other line, and Dean cold hear a groan.

"Sammy boy? What's going on?"

He could faintly hear his name spoken on the other line, followed by more shuffling, and a low growling noise, "Do you love him?"

Dean blinked and listened carefully, "Excuse me?"

"Sam. Do you love him?" The voice was deep and sort of hissy… definitely not Sam's.

"Who are you? And what have you done to my brother!" Dean screamed into the mouthpiece.

There was heavy breathing, followed by the voice, "You haven't answered my question."

"Of course I do! What kind of question is that?" Dean was frustrated beyond belief. Who would be sick enough to play this sort of game?

"Then you better hurry."

There was a scream of bloody murder, and the phone line went dead. Dean continued to yell in it, "Sam? SAM!" He swore loudly, slammed his cell phone shut, and threw it against the far wall. The battery separated, and slid under the dresser. Dean fell back on the bed behind him, "Sam… where are you?"

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Sam awoke in pain once again. His neck throbbed from several giant bruises and scrapes where the creature had gripped him. When his vision cleared up, he noticed that he was no longer in the same room he'd been in before, and that he was more restrained. His arms were strung out to the sides and chained to the wall behind him. He was weak in the knees, and nearly lost his balance several times. He found it difficult to breathe, and he felt queasy once again. That sickening, rotten flesh smell was back, and it seemed to be stronger now. Peering around the room, he took special note of the objects within it. There was a small coal stove in the far left corner, which seemed to be pumping out a substantial amount of heat; a metal table was in the center of the room, with assorted chains hanging over the sides; and the source of the smell wasn't too far away. About six feet to his right, there sat a partially rotted skeleton. Seeing it, Sam gagged. It appeared as if layers of its flesh were ripped from it before it died, and its jaw was hanging on by a few threads of the muscle that still remained. There was also a pile of bones in the corner that looked rather… fresh.

He turned his head to the other side to see that the door was slightly cracked open. A way out. Sam had finally found a way out. He took a step forward and his knees gave out completely. He stumbled and would've fallen on his face, had his wrists not been chained up. It took a lot of work to get himself upright, and once he did, he felt like falling over and dying. Hearing footsteps, Sam raised his head and looked towards the doorway. He was just in time to see the creature lumbering in. In its right hand, it held Sam's bag, dragging it along the floor. It brought the bag over before Sam and started going through it. His cell phone fell out and slid across the stone floor. Sam watched it slip out of his reach and groaned. Maybe if he used his foot, he could reach it; the thing was too busy digging through his other things to even notice. Swallowing hard, he slowly inched his way over as far as he could go. Sliding his foot over, he managed to only bump the cell phone and knock it even further away. He hung his head and gave up.

Suddenly, it rang.

Sam's head shot up with such velocity, he smacked it off of the wall behind him. He let out a yelp of pain, and felt quite dizzy and lightheaded once again. The creature picked it up and flipped it open. It started breathing into it, not quite knowing what to make of the cellular telephone. It held it out to Sam.

"_Sam? Sammy? Dude, are you okay?"_

Sam tried to yell out Dean's name, but his voice gave out. All he managed was a faint whisper. He groaned as the creature pulled it away.

"_Sammy boy? What's going on?"_

"Do you love him?" It hissed.

"_Excuse me?"_

Who asks that?

"Sam. Do you love him?"

"_Who are you? And what have you done to my brother!"_ Dean was screaming now. Oh yeah, he was mad.

There was a pause in conversation before it continued, "You haven't answered my question."

"_Of course I do! What kind of question is that?"_ Still yelling.

"Then you better hurry."

Sam watched as the creature removed his blade from the bag. It jabbed the blade with extreme force into Sam's left shoulder. His voice suddenly returning, Sam let out a loud, blood-curdling scream that echoed throughout the whole basement. It closed his phone, and gave a smirk that shone all of its fangs. Throwing the cell across the room, and then wandered over to the stove. Pulling open the door on the front, he grabbed a poker and stuck the end of it in the hot flames. Sam swiveled his head to his shoulder and watched as blood ran from the wound, and dripped onto the ground. _Hm. That's pleasant._ He thought to himself. Yeah… this was turning out to be a wonderful day.

He glanced up in time to see the demon-thing meandering back over, red-hot poker in hand. Sam watched as it put the poker up to his face. He could feel the heat radiating from it, and he grimaced. Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced himself for the pain that would come. When he didn't feel anything, he opened one eye and noted that it was staring at him.

"He's not coming."

Sam blinked, "Wh-what?"

"Your brother. He's not coming. He doesn't care."

"Yes he does!" Sam yelled into its face, "He does too care!"

It shrugged and gripped the blade in Sam's shoulder and twisted it about a bit. Sam ground his teeth together and clenched his hands into tight fists. It yanked out the razor and sliced open Sam's dark blue tee shirt. It took the poker, still burning hot, and pressed it onto Sam's bare chest. His efforts to keep from screaming proved fruitless, as the pain was too much for his body to handle. He screamed once again, which only made the poker get pushed in harder. Sam felt an unbelievable pain on his chest, and he felt as if his sternum was going to shatter in a million pieces. Where was Dean?

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Comments? Complaints? Chapter 2 soon! 


	3. Chapter II

Woo! More love! Lol. And for all you wondering readers, I haven't decided on an official name for the creature, but it's a demon… of a sort. I kinda made it up in my mind. Thanks to KlownKid-131 for some ideas! Anybody is welcome to send in their own stuff, I'll happily try and integrate them into my fic!

Anyway… here goes nothing…

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Rescue Me

Chapter II

"He's a little taller than me, shaggy, light brown hair… any of this ringing a bell?"

"No, sorry."

Dean cursed, thanked the man, and trudged on. Sam had gone into town to interview the locals earlier, and that's when suddenly vanished. Dean figured that if he could find _somebody_ who had seen his brother, he could figure out where exactly the twenty-two year old went. Of course nobody could tell him anything, and it depressed him quite a bit. So much that he thought it was time to call his father.

Dialing John Winchester's cell phone number, he felt hot tears rush to his eyes and he immediately darted into a small alley. He got that stupid voicemail again, and it took a moment before he began to speak into the cell.

"Dad? Dad, it's me. Look, I know you don't want to be found, but Sam's gone missing. Something has him hostage, and he's being tortured as I speak. I need your help. I've hit a dead end and—" Dean had to pause as he swallowed hard, trying not to bawl like a two-year-old. "And I really, really need you," hot tears began to run down his cheeks, and he had to keep swiping them away, for fear, of being seen. "If, and when, you get this message, call me, text me, anything. Just, please, Dad. It's important."

Shutting the phone he jammed it back in his pocket. He rubbed his eyes hard with his palms, trying to drive away the tears that just kept coming. He drew in a deep, shaky breath and let it out slowly. He needed a beer.

Dean meandered into a bar in search of an alcoholic beverage of some kind. It was only noon, but hey… it was five o'clock somewhere, right? It was good enough for Dean, so he ordered a beer and hustled some pool. After making a good hundred bucks, he wandered out of the bar a slightly happier man. Grinning to himself, he began counting the tens and twenties on the way to the Impala. He wasn't exactly watching where he was going, and walked smack into an older man. They clocked heads, and Dean let out a curse in frustration and pain. When he looked up, the man was staring at him. Dean found this creepy.

"Um. Sorry…?"

"You're looking for your brother, yes?"

Dean paused a moment, having to think about his answer; the hit on the head must've knocked his brain around, or something. Finally grasping what he was being asked, he nodded, "Yeah, have you seen him?"

"I spoke with yesterday morning," the old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it up, he took a long drag, and puffed the smoke out in Dean's general direction. The hunter coughed and attempted to wait patiently for the next sentence. It was difficult.

"He was wondering about the disappearances," another drag on the cigarette. "Asked if I had seen anything," another puff in Dean's face.

Waving his hand in front of his face to blow away the smoke, he raised a curious eyebrow, "And…? Have you?"

"Of course I have!" The old man shouted so loud that Dean stumbled back a few steps, "I see everything that goes on in this town!"

The old man proceeded to tell Dean that his name was Norman Blaine, the town's "psychic". _More like psych_**o** Dean wanted to say, but resisted; he knew that there really were psychics out there, and he figured that this man might be one of them. Who knew? So, just in case this man wasn't really crazy, Dean followed him back to his house, which smelled terribly of cat urine and burnt noodles. It made Dean wonder what in the world this man was doing. It made him keep his hand behind his back, gripped tightly on the handle of his trusty Colt .45 pistol. It also made him wonder why he was even there.

To find Sam.

He had to find Sam.

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Sam groaned; his shoulder ached, his chest burned, his head throbbed, and he was cold. Curled up on the floor in the basement-like room, he tried to calm himself to the point where he could think. His wrist chained him to the pipe again, and he was way too weak to even try to get out. He thought about giving up. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. It was leaking. Water dripped down from the smelly cement ceiling and created a puddle in the center of the room. He glanced over towards the doorway, and noticed that there was a tray several feet away with a sandwich and a glass of water on it. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten all day. Pulling himself from his laying position, he slowly inched over towards the tray. He reached out a shaky hand, but the food was just out of his reach. He stretched as far as the chain would allow him and even tried to get at it with his foot. Nothing. He was going to starve. This thing was going to kill him slowly, and then eat him. Or worse, it would start chowing down while Sam was still alive. That could be painful. He whined softly and fell back onto the floor with a soft thud. Sliding up against the wall, he pulled his tattered shirt away from his chest and shoulder wounds, and examined them. His shoulder was still dripping blood, so he tore off some of his shirt and tied it around the gash as tight as he could. The burn on his chest was extremely tender, and it hurt to even breathe. He took another chunk of his shirt and pressed it down on the burn. That hurt. A lot.

He drew in a deep breath and leaned his head back against the cement. He had just closed his eyes in an attempt to relax when the door creaked open again, and the demon limped in. It was holding something in its hand, and for a second, Sam thought it was going to stab him again. But, alas, it was just a small bag. It wandered over to Sam, and ripped open the bag. Pulling Sam's shirt away from both of his wounds, it took some of the bag's contents and rubbed it first on the burn, and then into his shoulder wound.

It was salt.

Sam let out a scream of pain, and grabbed the demon's wrist, trying to pry it away. It ripped from Sam's grip and backhanded him across the face. Gripping Sam's throat, it lifted him from the ground and held him against the wall with one hand.

"I figure that since you're going to die here, Sam Winchester, you may as well know my name," he, once again, spat as he spoke. "I am called Sazglur."

If Sam could have breathed, he probably would have laughed himself unconscious. Instead, he snorted and coughed in a mock-laugh manner. What kind of name was that? He cracked a smile on his face, but immediately regretted it.

"You think that's funny?" Sazglur tightened his grip and Sam choked again. Still holding onto the Winchester boy, he unlocked the chain and dragged Sam out of the room. The place looked like an old, abandoned warehouse that hadn't had any real life in it for decades… well, except for the unfortunate souls who had been kidnapped. He didn't have a lot of time to look around, considering as how he was still being strangled and pulled through the warehouse, but he did manage to note several rotting skeletons around. The smell of rotting and burning flesh still lurked around, and he was pretty sure he would've puked if he could even breathe. Before he knew it, Sam was thrown back into that same torture room he was in earlier. Scampering back across the floor, he tried his hardest to get away from the demon. He stood as quickly as he could, but soon found himself pressed up against the corner, Sazglur advancing quickly.

Sam's eyes shifted quickly to the coal stove across the room, and ran towards it. He wasn't quite sure how he had found the strength to keep going. He guessed it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins, and went with it. He snagged the hot poker from the flames and swung it as hard as he could, just as the creature came at him. It contacted with Sazglur's head, sparks flying everywhere. The beast fell hard to the ground, and Sam took off in a sprint. He stopped only to grab his bag before he took off out of the door. He darted through the warehouse, trying to grasp his bearings. The pain started to return, and he lost all feeling in his left leg. It gave out, and Sam tumbled to the floor, smacking his head on the cement once again. He managed to pull himself to his feet, only to find that blood had begun gushing from his forehead. Groaning, he examined the small puddle of blood on the floor, and what was dripping down onto the rest of his face. He heard footsteps behind him, and whipped around quickly. Sazglur had recovered and was out for vengeance.

Sam spun back around, snagged his stuff, and took off down the hall again. He rounded a corner, almost falling over from his speed combined with his off equilibrium. There was a door at the end of the hallway, which he flung open when he reached it. Slamming the door behind him, he looked around for something to put in front of it. Gripping onto a desk, he shoved it in front of the door. He knew full well that it wouldn't hold the creature, but it would keep him at bay for a little bit, until he figured out what he was going to do. Taking a deep breath, he limped over to the shelves that stood against the far wall. He started pulling things off, trying to find something to work with. There wasn't much, but he did find an old lead pipe. Hey, it worked in Clue, right? Yeah… right…

He slid back over to the door and stood along side it, careful not to look out through the small opening. Footsteps came closer, and Sam instinctively compressed himself against the cold wall. It gave him goose bumps across his bare back and chest. The footsteps stopped just outside, and Sam listened closely.

"I know you're in there, hunter," Sazglur spat. "You can't hide forever." He turned the knob and shoved the door as hard as he could.

Just as Sam had anticipated, the desk flew across the room and slammed into the shelves, knocking everything off. The door slammed into the wall and fell partially off its hinges. The demon entered and took a glance around the room, hoping that he had gotten Sam with the desk. No suck luck. Just as it turned around, Sam swung the pipe. This time, it caught it with one hand, and grabbed Sam's throat with the other.

"You're dead, hunter."

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Dean stared blankly at Norman. Was this guy for real? He had taken Dean into what appeared to be the kitchen of his house, where he had some sort of _crystal ball_ set up on the table. Raising an eyebrow, the twenty-six year old began to have his doubts about the man. But he did claim to have seen Sam… or was that just another hallucination? He was surprised when the man kept walking through he house, completely ignoring the ball. Apparently, this was just for show. He shook his head and followed Norman into the back of the house.

In the den, the walls were papered with news articles about every disappearance ever recorded in the small town in Pennsylvania. It was rather awkward, but it reminded him of the motel room he had found with all of his father's things.

"Every ten years," Norman spoke out of nowhere.

"What?" Dean turned from the article he had been reading.

"Every ten years or so, people start disappearing," Norman repeated. "It happens for a couple of weeks, and then stops."

Dean nodded slowly and skimmed a couple more articles. This man had to be a hundred years old, "So, do you have any theories as to what's doing it?"

"Theories?" Norman shouted at the top of his lungs. It startled Dean so much, that he tripped over himself, and fell over onto the floor.

"I've _seen_ the thing! In fact! I've got pictures!"

Dean stood and dusted himself off. Elated, he clambered over to the man, "Do you really? Can I see them?"

Norman thwacked Dean over the head with two fingers, "Don't be daft, of course." He opened a desk drawer as Dean rubbed his head and pulled out a folder, "Some of them are drawings."

Dean opened the folder. The first picture he saw looked like it was sketched by a two-year-old schizophrenic child. Scribbles covered the page, and there was a small black blob in the middle of the page. Norman snagged it away embarrassed, "Sorry." He grinned sheepishly. Dean brushed it off and continued looking through the pictures. The first several were of an arm, or a leg, or a foot, all of which were very blurry. But after he got a little deeper into the stack, he found a few that held some sort of being. It was from afar, and mostly obscured by bushes, or the occasional finger. Near the end of the stack was a very detailed sketch of a demon-like creature. It had blades for fingers, and knives for teeth. It looked like a burnt, anorexic Freddie Krueger.

"Can I hold onto this?"

"Yeah, yeah… sure! If it'll help!"

Dean nodded, "Where did you see this thing anyway?"

Norman wrote down some directions, "Here, follow these. It leads out of town, and into the woods. I think it's out there."

"Thanks again." Dean took off out of the house, and practically dove into his Impala, "Hold on Sammy boy, Dean's comin'."

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So? So? Wha'd you think! Next chapter (and quite possibly the conclusion!) on its way! 


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